


All Things with Reason

by BeneficialAddiction



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Phil Coulson, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Artificial Insemination, Attempted Mpreg, BDSM, Bondage, Breeding, Cock Rings, Come Inflation, Fertility Issues, Fertility Treatment, Filth, Fucking Machines, Gags, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Kink, No Refractory Period, Omega Clint Barton, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Scent Marking, Sex Toys, Spanking, Unrealistic Sex, pre-negotiated scenes, role play, with a tiny bit of fluff, with a tiny bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24962992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeneficialAddiction/pseuds/BeneficialAddiction
Summary: Alpha Phil Coulson has never 'connected' with an omega the way he does with Clint Barton.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Comments: 36
Kudos: 320





	All Things with Reason

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure filth - it is indefensible and I have nothing to say for myself.
> 
> Mind the tags luvs - could be perceived as dubcon before the break. Notes at the end if you're worried <3

Phillip Coulson’s computer monitor chimes quietly approximately five minutes before his final appointment of the evening, giving him just enough time to get into the right headspace before meeting his newest client. It doesn’t take much – he's been looking forward to his first session with Clint Barton since the day he’d picked up his application file. Phil has never reacted so strongly to an omega’s scent sample before, and has been suffering from a frustrating, low-grade arousal ever since, leaving him more than primed for tonight’s treatment consultation. Giving himself one last teasing stroke over his boxer-briefs, he carefully zips his slacks up over his erection and tugs on his white coat before stepping out of his office, snagging Barton’s folder off the desk on his way. 

The lights are dimmed, the hallways hushed as he makes his way down to the exam room, and he taps gently on the door before stepping inside. As thorough as he’s been in perusing Barton’s file he still has to pause in the doorway, absorbing the bolt of arousal that lashes through him and just barely keeping a deep rumble behind his teeth as he takes in the sight of the omega strapped to the bench in the middle of the room. Clint is built differently from the omegas Phil typically deals with, tall and broad-shouldered and muscular, and there is a lot of bare skin on display for him as he steps into the room and locks the door behind him. 

The omega flinches at the sound of the bolt, tries to turn, but the restraints keeping him locked into place on all fours don’t allow him the range of movement needed to get the door within his sightlines. A wave of pheromones suffuses the air, hot and potent, all nerves and need, and Phil’s cock throbs in anticipation. Though his Alpha instincts demand he step up and take what has been left on offer, Phil is a consummate professional and known for his self-control. Clint had come here tonight for a very specific reason and Phil won’t allow any boorish, hind-brain thinking to cloud his judgement. 

That is the _omega’s_ role after all, to sink into sensation and be consumed by their instincts, by their _Alpha._

“Clint Barton,” he muses as he flips open the file in his hand and steps slowly toward the breeding bench, his tone rich and smooth like dark, honeyed-whiskey. “Omega, male, thirty-four.” 

The man whines, a high-pitched, desperate sound tinged with impatience, and as Phil rounds the bench and walks into his line of sight he sees that a spider gag has already been applied, keeping the omega’s mouth open, his lips stretched wide. 

“Someone’s been naughty,” he tuts, his eyes back on his file as he flips the pages. “Let’s see: insubordination, aggressive behavior, apparent inability to take direction...” 

Beside him the omega snarls and his ripe, fruity scent turns sharp, bitter. 

Absently, Phil runs his hand down the man’s spine, skin hot but smooth as silk beneath his fingertips, gentling him a bit as he bucks against the thick leather cuffs holding him to the bench. 

“Easy,” he scolds gently. “Perhaps you just haven’t been given the right incentive, hmm? I’m _sure_ with the right incentive you could be a good boy for me... isn’t that right Clint?” 

The omega freezes, just for a microsecond, before lifting his head and meeting Phil’s eyes. For that brief moment Phil thinks this might be easier than he anticipated, that Barton might relax into his bonds and calm, lay back and think of England as it were. He doesn’t have time to contemplate his own disappointment at the thought before the moment passes, before Barton’s gaze sharpens to a glare and he jerks away from Phil’s touch as best he can, snarling nonsense around the gag keeping his mouth open and his teeth bared. 

“Ah well,” he says, snapping the folder shut smartly and tossing it onto a nearby filing cabinet. “The first time never goes the way we hope it will, does it?” 

Slipping out of his lab coat, leaving his chest bare, he hangs it from the hook near the door and casts his eyes over the counter along the wall, the sterilized tools and instruments all laid out for use during their session. There’s a small, digital recorder near the industrial-sized bottle of medical-grade lubricant he doesn’t think they’ll need, and he quickly presses the _Record_ button before placing it on a nearby chair where it will pick up sound clearly from any point in the room. 

“This is Alpha Phillip Coulson beginning Breeding Session One of Three with Omega Clint Barton,” he states clearly, stepping up behind the man who has been positioned on all fours at the perfect height to take Phil’s cock. 

The bench is angled so that most of Clint’s weight rests on his chest, his hips elevated slightly over his shoulders. His knees are spread wide and strapped down so that he can’t close his legs, and his thick thighs tremble with tension as Phil moves in close. 

“This is your first time coming in for a breeding session, isn’t it Clint?” he asks as he presses in against the omega’s body, letting him feel his erection against his ass through Phil’s clothes. “Answer me!” 

The omega jumps when Phil smacks a hand against his ass, tries to pull away from the sting but can’t get far. Despite his struggles he flushes beneath his tan, a pretty pink that spreads across what Phil can see of his cheek and down his neck. He babbles what sounds like a _yes sir_ around his gag and nods his head almost frantically, the sweet, floral-apple scent of his heat flooding back in full-force and making Phil’s hips jerk. 

“Then I’ll have to be sure to take good care of you and explain as I go, won’t I?” 

The omega whimpers and Phil’s eyes flutter shut as he breathes in deep, scenting the desire pouring off of him. Squeezing his hips, he slides both hands slowly up the omega’s body, along his sides and over his rib cage until he’s leaning over him, pressing in close and surrounding him with his own body, his own warmth and his own scent. He can feel the flush of rut tugging at him, a hook in the pit of his belly, and he allows his Alpha pheromones to unfurl, until they choke the room in thick, warm waves. 

Clint moans long and loud as the cinnamon-spice smell hits him, wriggling hard enough to rock Phil against his body, and he hums at the friction against his aching cock, grinning sharply. 

“There, that’s a good boy,” he purrs, and Clint’s spine stiffens. “Feels good doesn’t it? Just relax. All you have to do is be good and take everything I give you.” 

He rocks his hips with intent now, grinding his erection against Clint’s ass, and even though the omega is back to snarling and grumbling again he’s already leaking, smearing a thick, clear fluid across the front of Phil’s slacks. 

“Like that don’t you sweet boy?” he asks, slapping Clint’s other cheek to leave a matching red handprint on the opposite hip. “Look at how wet you are. I think we’re ready to get started, don’t you?” 

Stepping back abruptly, he lets his Alpha instincts wallow in the pleading, desperate whine that’s wrenched from the omega’s throat at the sudden lack of contact. Crossing around in front of him, Phil threads his fingers into his thick blonde hair and grips it tight, tugging his head back to bare his throat. 

“You smell so good beautiful,” he growls, crouching to press his face into the exposed curve of the omega’s neck and breathe deep, scraping his teeth over the skin there before biting down, sucking hard. He likes to indulge himself a bit at the beginning of any session, excite himself by letting his more possessive side out to play, and from the way Clint whines he likes it too. “You’ve got me _all_ worked up.” 

Letting go of Clint’s hair, he stands up and cups his dick through his pants, brushing his thumb back and forth across the mess Clint had made of the fabric. 

“All worked up and all messy,” he scolds playfully, thumbing open the button of his fly. 

Clint narrows his eyes at the perceived note of condescension in his tone – Phil had read his file carefully and knows exactly which buttons to push to piss him off. He tries to jerk back as Phil unzips and pushes his slacks and his underwear down, but his bonds keep him in place, wrists and elbows strapped down same as his hips and his knees, keeping him in position. 

“Feel that heat?” he asks casually as he folds his slacks and places them on the cabinet next to Barton’s file. “That warm, shivery feeling that makes you feel like you need to pull away, like static beneath your skin?” 

The omega growls, neither an affirmative nor a denial, but his dark eyes track Phil’s hand as he gives his cock a few rough strokes. 

“It’s a throwback to the old days,” he explains idly, “The _caveman brain._ When our lives were ruled by instinct and hormones and Alphas fought for the right to breed, running omegas down and fucking them full of pups.” 

Leaning down, he murmurs directly into the omega’s ear. 

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it Clint?” he asks, dragging his fingernails lightly up Barton’s spine. “To be _bred?”_

Barton growls, _shivers,_ a fine sweat breaking out over his skin. 

“We want to replicate that here tonight,” Phil explains as he moves to stand in front of the omega, grabbing his chin and tilting his head up to meet his gaze, thumbing at his lower lip where it’s stretched around the gag, slick and shiny where his saliva’s run down over his chin. “Our ancestors got one thing right; the fight-or-flight response, fear, adrenaline? They all trigger a release of fertility hormones, part of the dance between an Alpha’s rut and an omega’s heat.” 

Leaning down, he tucks his face into the curve of Clint’s throat, breathes him in again and feels the first prickle of his own need race down his spine. 

“So you fight all you want sweetheart,” he rumbles into his ear, nipping sharply at the hinge of his jaw. “It will only do you good.” 

Straightening up, he doesn’t ask, doesn’t wait, just wraps his hand around the base of his steel-hard cock and presses it into Barton’s open mouth. The omega makes a snorting yelp of a sound and jerks, all indignation, but the spider gag keeps him from biting down and Phil smirks, pleased with the forethought. 

“Easy,” he rumbles, taking Clint’s face between his hands and smoothing his thumbs over his cheeks, pressing at the corners of his mouth where his lips are stretched wide. “Just relax baby. This is the easy part.” 

Clint glares at him and tries to argue, but his mouth is being held open and stuffed full so he’s not very successful. Phil chuckles, rocks his hips, just rubbing the head of his cock over the roof of Clint’s mouth. It’s warm and wet and gets his motor revving, and that’s good, that’s what they’re here for. Phil sucks in a breath as he lets the pleasure wash over him, feels his cock harden even more. Clint whines and squeezes his eyes shut, his jaw tensing as he strains against the gag, but his tongue starts to move too, flicking against Phil’s slit. 

“That’s it sweetheart, get a good taste,” he breathes, pressing his cock down to better rub over Clint’s tongue. “Good boy.” 

Clint whimpers as Phil pulls back, rubs the head over his cock over the omega’s full lower lip. His tongue immediately follows, licking up the precum he’s left behind, slick and pink. Cupping his jaw, Phil presses back inside and surges forward, thrusting slow and deep into his mouth until the head of his cock hits the back of Clint’s throat, eliciting a guttural, choking sound that hits him right in the gut. 

“That better baby?” he asks, pressing one hand to Clint’s throat and stroking the other through the omega’s short blonde hair. “Want a little more of my cock?” 

Barton grunts, tries to suck as best he can with his mouth held open, and Phil hates to disappoint so he thrusts a little deeper, pushing his cock into the tight, hot heat of his throat. 

“An Alpha’s precum can trigger a heat in a compatible omega,” he recites, his own eyes closed as he tries to keep a clear head despite the fact that he can feel his own cock sliding into Barton’s throat beneath his fingers. “But you’re already past that point, aren’t you sweetheart? Aren’t.... _hrnnnggg...”_

Phil clenches his eyes shut as Clint swallows around the head of his cock, his throat rippling. Grabbing on to his control – something no one has ever tested as much as Barton has tonight – he pulls out and takes a deep breath. He’s panting and hot, but the cool air on his wet cock brings him back from the edge. Clint whines long and low, dropping his forehead against Phil’s abdomen, and he pets through the omega’s hair as his heart rate slows again. The wave of pheromones that Clint puts out doesn’t help – Phil can practically taste the gush of slick that must be running down his thighs. 

“Still helps doesn’t it?” he pants, leaning down to breathe in the sweat that’s started to dampen the sweat at Clint’s temples. “Tastes good, makes you _want...”_

Clint groans and presses harder against his hip, seeking as much contact as he can with his limited movement, and Phil obliges, petting and soothing over his head, his neck, his jaw. He smells so good, makes the sweetest noises, and Phil makes a split decision to unbuckle the gag keeping the omega’s mouth open. He’s quick but gentle, setting the gag aside and massaging the hinge of his jaw as he ducks to press a firm kiss to his lips. Clint thrusts his tongue into Phil’s mouth, bites at him, and Phil grins into the embrace. 

“Feisty boy,” he chuckles, standing up again and stepping away, walking around the bench and dragging his nails along Clint’s skin as he goes. “Behave.” 

“Then get the hell on with it,” Clint snarls, his voice throaty and hoarse and rough, putting a shiver down Phil’s spine. 

“Is that how it’s going to be?” he muses, keeping his tone all cool disinterest and clicking his tongue. “And I could be so good to you Clint.” 

“Yeah well you _ohhhhhhh...”_

Clint’s argument cuts off with a long, drawn-out moan, almost pained in its desperation. Phil smirks as he palms the omega’s cock, thick and hard and hanging heavy between his legs beneath the bench’s support bar. His skin is hot and silky soft under Phil’s fingers and there’s a thin thread of precum dripping from the tip that Phil catches on his thumb and lifts to his mouth, sucking it between his lips. 

“Mmm, I was right,” he hums as the salt-flavor bursts across his tongue, leaning against Clint’s side and letting him fuck into his fist, just the tiny little bit that he’s able to leverage. “You _are_ a sweet boy.” 

Clint groans, growls in frustration as he jerks his hips, hard enough to make the bench shudder. 

“Please,” he gasps, and Phil smiles. 

“Well since you asked so nicely,” he purrs. “I’ll let you choose. Are you listening Clint?” 

Probably not – the omega is panting, arching against his bonds as he tries to move, but he nods his head anyway. 

“Good boy. I’ll let you choose then; you can come now...” 

Clint whines, shakes and nods frantically. 

“You can come now and wear a cock cage for the rest of our session...” 

_“Noooooo...”_

“Or... you can wear a cock ring and come when I finally knot you.” 

Clint sucks in a ragged gasp of air, pants and whimpers, and Phil waits patiently, tickling his fingertips along the length of Clint’s cock. He’s spent more than enough time musing over the two options himself – neither poses any benefits over the other for what they’re trying to accomplish tonight, which is the only reason he’s allowing the omega the choice – but if he had his own way he’d put Clint in the... 

“The cock ring.” 

“Ask me nicely,” he growls, locking down all the pleasure he feels in Clint having made the right choice. 

“The cock ring _please Alpha,”_ he snarls between clenched teeth, all impatience and attitude, and Phil grins. 

“Good boy.” 

Clint shudders then sags against the bench, his head dropping down between his shoulders, and Phil makes a mental note to keep up the pet names – his suspicion that Clint has a praise kink appears to be right on the money. 

As he crosses to the counter to pick up the adjustable cock rings laid out, he pulls up the extra arm of the bench and locks it into place, giving Clint something to rest his forehead against. They’re going to be here for a while and he’s going to be under a lot of strain – better he focus his energies where they're needed than on holding up a heavy head. Phil murmurs nonsense as he does it, scritching his fingers through the man’s hair, pleased with the way he melts under the slightest positive attention. Despite his attitude he seems quite sweet, and easily kept in the right mindset with just a modicum of effort. 

It’s going to be a delightful session. 

As Phil looks over the selection of tools and implements at his disposal he muses on his own burning desire. It had started as a tingle at the base of his spine and grown as the evening’s gone on. In the short half-hour or so that’s passed since he’d turned on the recorder his want has grown to a blaze of heat in the pit of his belly, a roar in his blood. He _wants,_ and he can feel his rut hormones reacting to the thick, sweet scent of Clint’s heat in the air. His cock has gone thick and heavy and his testicles ache, and he can already feel the tension deep in his groin that comes with the threat of a knot. 

Turning around, he leans back against the counter and lets his senses hone in on the omega in front of him, eyes skating over muscle and golden skin, gleaming with sweat beneath the harsh lights. Scent, taste, fuck – _touch,_ he wants it all, and well, it _is_ there for the taking. 

Foregoing the snap-on leather and the thick, heavy steel that’s his personal favorite to wear, Phil picks up the C-ring lasso and starts warming the silicon between his hands. Clint is grumbling again, bitching and hissing under his breath, but Phil can actually see the goosebumps on the back of his arms, the way the fine, downy hair on his neck is standing on end. He doesn’t look comfortable and he is fighting the straps holding him down, if far more subtlety than Phil expected, and he can smell the flood of hormones that fight releases. 

He’s delectable. 

“Ohhh ffffuck!” he moans, _chokes,_ as Phil steps in close to his side and takes hold of his cock, giving him a couple of long, slow strokes. “Please, please, please....” 

“Please what Clint?” 

The omega whimpers, his thighs shuddering, and Phil gives his hand a couple of twists as an incentive. It seems to do the opposite; he’s pretty sure that Clint’s eyes cross, given the sound he makes. Phil chuckles, perhaps a little devilishly, but as long as they’re both enjoying themselves... 

Learning down, Phil drapes himself over Clint’s back, wrapping his free arm around the omega’s waist. Burying his face into the skin between his shoulder blades, breathing him in, he speeds up his hand, stroking Clint’s sticky, leaking cock until he’s panting and wriggling and tensing up and... 

He lets go. 

_“Noooooooo,”_ he snarls. “No, no, fuck!” 

“No what Clint?” Phil teases. 

“Fuck you!” he barks. 

“Mmm, I think you may have a fundamental misunderstanding of how this is going to work,” Phil muses, stepping back and dropping into a crouch. 

Having chosen the double lasso with two beads he wraps it around the base of Clint’s cock, tightening the first loop before wrapping the second around his testicles. Clint huffs and moans under his breath as he adjusts the beads, making sure everything is snug. He’s still squirming but he’s been rather remarkably good overall, so before he stands Phil ducks in and flicks his tongue over the head of Clint’s cock, giving it a quick suck and making him yelp. 

“Alright,” he says clinically, getting to his feet and positioning himself between Clint’s legs as if the mere taste of him doesn’t threaten to send him to his knees, “I think it’s more than time to get started, don’t you?” 

Taking note of the clock, he grabs the base of his dick, lines up, and presses inside in one long, hard stroke. 

Clint _wails._

Later Phil will admit that he’s apparently unprofessional enough to have blacked out for a few seconds. The heat, the slick, wet heat of Clint’s body is so tight around him that he’s pretty sure he stops breathing. When he blinks back to himself he’s got his hands clenched around Clint’s hips and he’s panting and the omega is shivering and whining and _pleading_ for him to move, and everything in him screams not to disappoint him. Wet and open as he is, as deep into his heat as he’s fallen, Phil doesn’t have to worry about hurting him – his body is more than accommodating of his Alpha – so he tightens his grip and sets a pace that, if he’s lucky, he’ll be able to maintain for at least a few rounds before he has to tap out. 

He loses time. 

He fucks Clint hard and fast and deep and it doesn’t last long. 

It’s not meant to. 

He snarls as he cums, burying himself as deep in the omega’s body as he can, shaking and sweating and burning up from the inside out, and it’s only the first one of the night. 

“First insemination complete at... seven fifty-two pm,” he pants, still gripping Clint’s hips. 

_“Ohgod-ohgod-ohgod,”_ Clint chants, rocking back as best he can, just a fraction of movement that teases at Phil’s cock. _“First..._ You... oh _fuck,_ you’re still _hard...”_

“Mmm, that’s right,” Phil purrs, leaning forward to lick at Clint’s spine, to taste the sweat that’s sprung up there. “It’s your first time being bred by a compatible Alpha during a heat isn’t it?” 

Clint whines, long and high–pitched, but he keeps his head down, and Phil chuckles quietly, petting his flanks as he straightens back up, catches his breath and pulls back to start up another slow, rocking rhythm. 

“When an Alpha and an omega are compatible at a base level heat will trigger rut,” he recites, glad that he’s spent so long studying up on these processes that now he can babble them off the top of his head. “The purpose of which is to successfully breed the omega. Where omega hormones allow for increased lubrication and relaxation of muscles...” - he pauses, listens to Clint moan while he drags his fingers up the back of his wet thighs, gathering some of his slick on his fingers and reaching between them to rub hard across his perineum - “Alpha hormones allow us multiple orgasms and a refractory period that is practically non-existent,” he concludes. “I’ll stay hard no matter how many times I come tonight, until we’re done and I’ve finally knotted you.” 

Clint lets out a low, keening cry, but if he’s perfectly honest Phil isn’t sure the omega’s heard a word he’s said. He’s losing track of them himself as his pace has picked up, and Clint is clenching around him and it’s too soon but oh hell... 

“Second insemination complete at eight o’seven pm,” he huffs as the orgasm suddenly rolls over him. “Fuck.” 

But there’s no reprieve. 

Clint’s whimpering and whining, begging him to go again - _faster, harder, please_ \- and there’s nothing in Phil’s make-up or his instincts or his nature that will allow him to fail his omega. 

The third takes longer, the fourth takes longer than that, and Clint cries and babbles and pleads for filthy, wonderful things that he would likely blush to say in the cold light of day. He urges Phil on, begging to be bred, to be fucked full of little ones that Phil is sure will have Clint’s eyes. Of course he obliges – how could he not – but he has to admit that he takes rather more pleasure from the experience than is strictly professional. The room becomes suffused with their scent, all fruit and spice like warm apple pie, and as cliché as it sounds it’s the smell of home and partner and family. 

_“Noooooo,”_ Clint moans, whimpering as Phil carefully slips free of his body for the first time in what feels like hours, once he’s orgasmed for the sixth time and his legs are shaking with the strain of his exertion. “No, Alpha, please...” 

“Hush,” Phil murmurs, stroking over his hips as he drops to his knees between the omega’s legs. “I want to look at you.” 

Clint keens – he makes the sweetest noises Phil’s ever heard – and he rewards him by leaning in and rubbing his cheek against Clint’s ass. He’s red and just a little swollen, sticky down to his knees where his slick and sweat have dripped down his thighs, and Phil licks at him in long strokes, fruity-sweet musk bursting across his tongue. 

“You taste so good beautiful,” he rumbles, low and deep as he nuzzles at Clint’s balls, full and tight. “You’re so good.” 

_“Please,_ I can’t...” Clint whines, wriggling in his bonds, “I need...” 

“I know what you need sweetheart.” 

Pushing himself to his feet on slightly unstable legs, Phil crosses the room and grabs the SexSim Thrusting Machine he’d invested in several months ago. Rolling it across the floor, he gets it into position and locks it in place before checking that the realistic dildo attachment is properly screwed in. As much as it galls him to use that kind of tool or toy to keep his omega satisfied, needs must sometimes. Not even a compatible Alpha in rut can keep on forever, and the SexSim, well, it’s just a little extra insurance. 

Clint’s here for a reason after all, and Phil is nothing if not efficient and dedicated to his goal. 

Artificial insemination isn’t exactly a new technique. It’s been recommended by fertility specialists for years to clients who’ve struggled to conceive, and while it _is_ Clint’s first time trying for a pregnancy during a heat, it had been very clearly outlined in his file that any and all means possible were to be employed in attempting a successful breeding. It still galls him – of course it does – but he soothes himself with the knowledge that it is still _his_ donor samples, carefully collected and stored over the last month, that will be contributed. 

Clint’s whining and whimpering, squirming as best he can, and Phil is overtaken by a sudden rush of fondness for him, softer than the sharp, lusting hunger ever is. Stroking his hand down Clint’s spine, he lets his eyes fall shut and breathes in the scent of them together, imagines how the omega’s scent will ripen and become deeper, _richer_ once he’s carrying a little one. It sends a thrill down his spine and he lets out a low, possessive rumble, one that makes Clint gasp and stiffen. 

He can’t help himself – moving to Clint’s head he drops to his knees and lowers the headrest, threading his fingers into Clint’s hair. Leaning in close, he presses his face into the curve of the omega’s neck and sucks in deep, gulping lungfulls of him, licking at his throat and rubbing his cheek and jaw against him, scenting him even more. He’s all salty sweat and the thick sweetness of heat, and he smells like _Phil._

When he kisses him Clint presses into it, all teeth and tongue and hunger, kissing back. 

The bite Phil leaves on his shoulder is deep enough to bruise. 

“Oh god, please Alpha, _please_ let me cum,” Clint wails, his head dropped against Phil’s shoulder as he bites and sucks at the omega’s throat. 

“Mmm, that’s not what you’re here for though, is it Clint?” Phil purrs, forcing himself back to his feet, trailing his hands along Clint’s sides as he circles back around him. “Is it?” 

Clint whimpers and Phil adjusts the arm of the fucking machine, pressing the thick silicon dildo – modeled after his own cock because there is only so much that his Alpha pride will allow – against the omega’s slick, swollen entrance. 

“What are you here for Clint?” he asks, his tone low and rough with warning as he drops his hand to power switch. 

“To be _bred!”_ Clint wails as the machine thrusts inside in one long stroke. “Oh god, Alpha, please, please, please!!” 

Phil’s breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding hard against his ribs – no one has ever assaulted his senses the way this omega does. The tremble in his voice rings in Phil’s ears as he begs, his sweat thick on Phil’s tongue, his scent, the sight of him all filling up his head as his muscles shift and his skin gleams. Hunger twists in Phil’s belly watching the Clint’s back bow as he tries to drive himself back onto the toy that’s pressing so deep inside him. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, reaching out to grip at Clint’s ass, watching the toy stretch him wide with each slick, mechanical slide. “You’re taking it so well.” 

Stepping in close, he indulges himself, leans over the whining, whimpering, _trembling_ omega runs his tongue along his spine. He wants to eat him alive, wants to bury himself inside of him and live there, and it’s a deeper, stronger connection than he’s ever experienced before in his life. His hands run all over Clint’s body, jarred with each and every thrust of the SexSim, and feels himself start to shake right along beside him, his cock aching and throbbing and harder than he knew was possible. His knot is starting to threaten and he knows this next time will be the last time, the culmination of everything they’ve been trying to do here tonight, and he’s nearly coming a part with his own want, driven as close to the edge as Clint. 

“Oh god, I can’t, I can’t, I need... Alpha please!” Clint whines, and there are tears streaming down his cheeks. “Please, give me your knot!” 

“Almost there baby,” Phil promises, stroking his hair with one hand and speeding up the SexSim with the other. “One more, and then I’ll give you everything you need.” 

Clint whines, and then, as Phil hits the button to trigger the ejaculation feature on the fucking machine, he practically screams. 

“Inseminations seven, eight, and nine completed via artificial injection at nine thirty-six pm,” he says over Clint’s panting and whimpers, his words tight and choked as his mind goes to dark, filthy, instinctive places. “Fuck, Clint...” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, heat-drunk and nearly delirious now. “Fuck Clint, please, please...” 

“I will, I will love,” he says, careful even in his sudden, desperate haste as he pulls back the SexSim machine and removes the cock ring, eyes transfixed on Clint’s red, swollen entrance, wet and sloppy now and so, so ready even as the omega’s dick twitches violently against his fingers. “Gonna give you my knot, gonna breed you so good, make you a baby, I promise...” 

And then he’s back inside and he can’t think anymore. 

He’s sure he’s babbling, gasping out filth and praise and love nonsense, but his mind is consumed by the heat, the slick, silken heat around his cock, his knot, that is already starting to swell. Giving in to instinct, to the thing he’s wanted almost since the start of the night, he leans forward and presses his hand to Clint’s abdomen, feels the slight bulge there where he’s buried so deep, where Clint’s normally flat belly is swollen hot and hard, pumped full of his cum. His heart is racing and he can’t breathe and his skin is on fire, and he can’t control the rhythm of his hips anymore so he drapes himself over Clint’s back and takes his cock in his hand, stroking in time to his frantic thrusts until they’re both shouting and tumbling over the edge.

**AVAVA**

It takes some doing but Phil manages to get them off the bench and onto the bed once Clint has clumsily thumbed the quick-release on his restraints and freed himself. It’s not easy, what with Phil’s knot tying them tight together, but they’d been planning this for months – nearly a whole year. He’d planned this scene out to the inch, every detail carefully calculated, and so despite the fact that it had been approximately ten times more intense than he ever could have anticipated, he manages to drop them both onto the mattress instead of the floor.

His phone is on the nightstand within easy reach, allowing him to dim the lights from their nest of pillows, to raise the temperature a bit now that their bodies have finally started to cool down. Clint is trembling in his arms but doesn’t feel chilled yet, though the tacky layers of sweat and cum between them will soon see to that. Pulling the sheet over them, Phil reaches for the bottled water also at hand and carefully props himself up on one elbow, gently encouraging him to sip with sweet, soft words murmured in his ear. 

“That’s it my gorgeous luv,” he murmurs, nuzzling into the damp hair over Clint’s temple. “Slowly.” 

Clint doesn’t respond, at least with words, but Phil doesn’t expect him to. He gets like this sometimes, after, quiet and cuddly, and tonight had been more exhausting and more all-consuming than either of them had expected. Once’s he’s finished off half the bottle Phil gulps down the rest himself, knowing that otherwise he’ll be feeling the effects of dehydration tomorrow like the worst hangover. He’d wanted pain killers available for both of them but Clint had strenuously refused, so instead he reaches for the chocolate bar he'd laid out instead and starts feeding it to him in small bites. 

By the time it’s gone, Clint’s muscles have finally started to relax and his breathing has slowed, evened out to something at least approaching normal as his heat-scent starts to mellow, putting Phil’s frazzled nerves at ease. It’s not just that of course – it's weariness and a bone-deep sense of evolutionary satisfaction, all his instincts soothed by his omega in his arms, the scent of them together nearly suffocating beneath the sheets. It’s body heat and skin-on-skin contact and the knowledge that they’re safe and together in their own den, and even as he murmurs a never-ending stream of love into Clint’s ear it nearly lulls him off to sleep. 

“Do you think it worked?” Clint croaks softly, his hand coming down to cover Phil’s where his fingertips are ghosting idle patterns over his belly. 

His voice is hoarse and rough and full of an unbearable hope that lights a fire in Phil’s chest. 

“The fertility expert said this kind of role play could increase chances of conception by nearly twenty-five percent,” he recites back softly, as gently as he can. Clint knows this – they've been over the literature and the pamphlets and the notes from their treatment sessions together more times than he can count – so there’s a delicacy now to these discussions that belies that painful, anxious hope on _both_ sides. “I’m not done trying. Are you?” 

“Tonight I am,” he grumbles, shifting further back against Phil’s chest and making them both hiss with mild discomfort. “You wore me out.” 

“Pretty sure that’s what _I_ should be saying,” he chuckles tiredly, pulling Clint even closer and waiting for him to snuggle down again. “You were so beautiful tonight.” 

“Hmm, and you were ‘mazin...” Clint mumbles, already drifting off. “Was so good. Love you so much Phil...” 

“And I love you,” he whispers, sleep dragging him down even as his hand smooths over Clint’s chest to rest protectively over his belly. “Can’t wait to see you carrying our baby.” 

He falls asleep hoping that they won’t have to wait for long.

**Author's Note:**

> All sexual acts between Clint and Phil are part of a pre-negotiated role-playing scene between committed partners. Though they may appear to be of dubious consent as they involve bondage and an apparently grumpy Clint, he always has a safeword and has agreed to all acts beforehand.


End file.
